


One Good Turn Deserves Another

by veronamay



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-24
Updated: 2003-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Orange thinks about his options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Good Turn Deserves Another

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't used the "violence" archive warning on this fic since there's no actual violence in it, but this is a missing scene that takes place at a point where various people have been shot and/or violently injured, so there's mention of blood and death.

He must've blacked out for a while. When he opened his eyes, the warehouse was empty except for him and Blonde and some guy they had tied to a chair. He squinted, trying to see ... ah. A uniformed cop, tied to a chair.

The world was steadily getting whiter; his vision was starting to go round the edges. Tunnel vision, he thought they called it. It was hard to move. His hands were cold, his belly a writhing mass of tortured nerves. But he could hear everything, clearer than he could ever remember hearing before. The melody of that fucking song echoed in his brain, though the only sounds in the warehouse now were the slushing sounds of liquid creeping over the floor and the heavy breathing of the cop. Then the strong, bitter smell of gasoline hit him like a slap in the face, waking him up all the way, and the cop was pleading for his life. Blonde was toying with him, teasing him, and that was _it_ , damn it. Enough of this shit.

The shots sounded loud to him. He wondered even as he emptied his clip if someone would get curious and come looking, knowing that no-one would.

Blonde took a long time to fall down. He must've fired six or seven shots into him, but the bastard stayed on his feet longer than he had himself, which made him feel vaguely pissed off. He raised his gun to fire again, forgetting that it was empty, but then the fucker finally fell over and lay still. He tried to get his breath back, then realised it wasn't gonna come back, no matter how long he waited.

Turning over was agony, but he wanted to face the cop. They had shit to talk about.

"Hey." Christ, his throat was dry. "What's your name?"

"M-Marvin." The cop looked at him, blood and spit all over his face. He hoped he didn't look that fucked up.

"Marvin what?"

"Marvin Nash."

Jesus, what a name. He didn't feel so bad now.

He'd been thinking, before he blacked out. He went back to it now, wondering if he'd lost his fucking mind but not really caring enough to be worried. White's face came back to him, streaked with tears. He could trust that face. He hadn't at first – who would? He'd run a mile, worn the damned ring like it was a crucifix, tried to stay back. White hadn't even had to try though – he'd just smiled and joked and drawn him in. Lamb to the slaughter, but the proverbial lambs never had it so good.

Holdaway's face was in front of him now, telling him to forget about Long Beach Mike, to keep his mind on the fucking job. They were out to get Cabot and Nice Guy Eddie. He'd volunteered for this. There was no safety net, he had no allies here. Except now he did, because here was Marvin Nash, fresh out of the academy, and nobody told him shit.

Tell Marvin they were after Joe, and only Joe. Keep White distracted when Joe came to the warehouse, get him the fuck away as soon as the uniforms moved in. He was a diversion in the flesh with all this blood; if he screamed a bit, White could be long gone before anyone thought to count heads. Then, when he was back on his feet – because he was not going to die, damn it, White was right about that – well, he'd think about that. In detail.

"Listen to me, Marvin—" His voice gave out, and he swallowed with difficulty. Did he really want to do this?

Could he give them Cabot and keep White out of it? Was that possible? He'd been taking his time with the Wisconsin mug books, so they didn't have a damned thing to go on.

Doable, he decided.

"Listen to me, Marvin Nash. I'm a cop."


End file.
